Foreign Parts
by Tsukikami Moyizawa
Summary: ANOTHER DGM FANFIC! So in this one Allen's a singer, Kanda's literally a dancing samurai, Lavi's an intern, and Bookman's the owner of a huge entertainment company. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Allen stuffed his carry-on into the compartment above his seat. It was a small plane, and there wasn't a lot of room between the seats. He sat down by the window and dragged his gloved hand through his shock of white hair. He sighed and looked outside. He saw a commotion on the runway, just as they were pulling up the steps to board the plane. There was an Oriental man arguing heatedly with the man with the walkie talkie, motioning vigorously and angrily. He turned away from the scene after a while and looked around him. Across the aisle from him was a woman with brown hair talking on the phone in rapid German. A big Asian man with spikey hair lounged, in the back, legs crossed. It seemed as if the quarrel outside had subsided, because the Oriental man stormed onto the plane, shoved his luggage into a compartment, and sat down with a huff in the front. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, please prepare for takeoff," said a voice over the intercom.

The flight wasn't necessarily a pleasant one. Allen stumbled off the plane after turbulence, a problem with the toilet's plumbing system, an intense argument between the angry man and the flight attendant, and his luggage falling on his head about six times. He picked his other luggage off the conveyor belt and started looking for the sign with his name. He spotted an American teenager with spikey red hair held back by a colorfully patterned headband, and one eye covered up by an eye patch. He was holding up a sign with "Allen Walker?" written on it in big red letters. He grinned and walked over to him. The redhead took his hand and shook it enthusiastically. "You must be Allen Walker! Nice to meet you! My name's Lavi. Mr. Bookman sent me to pick you up." Allen smiled and freed his hand. "Well, should we get going then? I was supposed to meet with him—" he checked his watch. "—An hour ago." Lavi laughed. "True that. Let's go!" He took his suitcase and led the way out of the airport. He bumped shoulders with someone, and, trying to apologize, looked back, but no one was there. He scratched his head, taking note of this. "Weird."

Lavi put Allen's suitcases in the back of a red Camerro. He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. "So the Exec tells me you're from England," he said, pulling out of the lot. Allen nodded. "That's right. I'm from the upper east side of London." Lavi laughed. "They have an upper east side in _London_? I thought that was only in the Big Apple. Is it as incredibly sweet as the one here?"

"Big Apple? What's that?" Allen looked at him quizzically. Lavi chuckled again. "My dear little Brit. The Big Apple is all around you! Welcome to New York, baby!"

Allen looked out the window up at a huge, towering building at least 500 stories high. Lavi pointed at it. "That's the Empire State Building. That's the Chrysler Building. That's the Bank Of America Tower. And that statue over there, of the lady, that's the Statue of Liberty, the pride of New York City. Oh, here we are." He pulled into a parking lot of a huge skyscraper. "Leave your stuff in the trunk, we'll get it out when you go to your apartment. Come on, we're on the 88th floor, and the elevator's down. We got some climbing to do," Lavi said, getting out and stretching. Allen paled. "88 flights of stairs?" Lavi waved him off. "Yeah, but you'll do fine. You look athletic enough." Allen shook his head vigorously. "I'm not an athlete. I'm a musician!" "Look, if you pass out, I'll carry you. Deal?" Allen nodded.

So they climbed the stairs. Allen actually did about pass out after 74 flights and Lavi had to half drag, half carry him the rest of the way up. When they reached the 88th floor, Allen collapsed on a bench, breathing raggedly. "They better…fix that…elevator…fast," he said. Lavi wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. "The maintenance man's been sick for a week. I'll probably go check on him tonight, make sure he isn't dead or something." Allen stared at him. "Is he terribly sick, this maintenance man?" Lavi looked at him sideways. "I don't really know, I haven't talked to him in a while. Why?" But Allen had closed his eyes and folded his hands. Lavi poked him. "Hey, London, baby, you okay?" Allen swiped at him. "I was praying for him, you git." Lavi raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Okay, yeah. So I think the Exec is waiting for us. Hey, Johnny! Is Mr. Bookman ready for Walker?" The man behind a big secretary's desk with curly hair and round glasses jumped. "Uh, yeah, he should be. You're late Lavi. He won't be happy." Lavi smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Come on, London."

They entered a big room with a view of the New York skyline. The man in the swivel chair turned around and glared at Lavi. "You're late."

Allen gasped. Mr. Bookman was a short old man who was bald except for a ponytail on top of his head. His eyes were thickly lined with black eyeliner. "You were supposed to be here an hour and twenty-six minutes ago with the client. You're lucky I don't fire you." Lavi grinned nervously and scratched under his headband. "Come on, Gramps. You can't fire me, I'm far too valuable to this operation." "Lavi Deke Bookman! Do you want me to send you home? I can do that, you know. I can and will make life miserable for you, grandson." Allen looked from one to the other, confused. "Wait. You're his grandfather?" he said to Mr. Bookman. He nodded, and threw a book at Lavi. He ducked and it hit the door behind him. Mr. Bookman clapped his hands. "So, Mr. Walker, nice to meet you. Please, please have a seat," he said, motioning to the cushioned chair in front of the desk. Allen shook his hand and sat down. "So you've been looking for an opportunity for fame in your field, which is—" "Piano, and vocals." "Right. Well, I'm glad to say that the Earl of Millennium in England has recommended you highly to me and my corporation. Now, Bookman Records isn't exactly on good terms with the earl's company, but I do trust his judgment when it comes to talent. And you, Mr. Walker, have it. So, are you ready for this?" Allen nodded enthusiastically. "I'll do whatever you tell me to, within reason, gladly. Thank you for giving me this stupendous opportunity!" Mr. Bookman smiled. "Then let's shake on it."

Allen Walker and Mr. Bookman shook hands. Lavi pumped a fist in the air. "Sweet! Looks like we're coworkers now, London!" Allen smiled. "What's your job here, Lavi?" "I'm the intern, but I'll be taking Gramps' place when he bites the dust. You know, coffee runs, paper jams, picking up clients from airports, that kind of junk." "Lavi, take Mr. Walker to his apartment," said Mr. Bookman dismissively. Lavi shrugged and motioned for Allen to follow him. "Don't worry. Going down the stairs is a lot easier than going up them."

When they walked into the lobby, a Chinese girl with long black pigtails ran up to Lavi and hugged him around the neck. "Lavi! Look who's back from Spain!" she said excitedly. "Sweet! Lenalee! It's been what, a month?" he smiled. "Yeah, and now I know a little Spanish. Do you know how hard it is to communicate with Spaniards when you only know English and Mandarin Chinese? They're nothing alike!" she remarked. She looked around him at the white-haired boy. "Hey! Who's this?" "Oh, this is Gramps' new client, Allen Walker. He's from England," Lavi replied, shoving Allen in front of him. He bowed slightly. "Nice to meet you, miss." "My name's Lenalee Lee. Uh, let's see here, _encatado," _She grinned at her proper use of the Spanish word. Lavi steered Allen away. "We gotta get going, Lenalee. See you later, okay?" She waved. "See you!"

Lavi drove him to another skyscraper. "21 Lexington. This is it!" He exclaimed, jumping out of the car and getting Allen's luggage out of the trunk. Allen looked up at the building in amazement. He'd never seen so many tall buildings in one place before. This city was huge. Lavi walked him in to the lobby and shoved him to the front desk. "Uh, hello, my name is Allen Walker and I'm supposed to have an apartment rented here," he said nervously to the man behind it. His nametag read "Russell." He smiled. "Ah yes, the young man from Great Britain. Your apartment number is 14 on the twelfth floor. And here is your key." Allen bowed and thanked him. He walked back to Lavi, who handed him his bags. "I have to get back to the office. Gramps most likely has something for me to do. Think you can handle it from here, London?" Allen nodded. "Thanks for everything, Lavi. I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose?" Lavi nodded, grinning. "Unless I get arrested again." Allen paled, and Lavi slapped his shoulder. "Just kidding, man. I haven't been arrested since I was 15." Laughing, he walked out the door. Allen sighed and dragged his things up in the elevator and down the hall to the door labeled 14. When he went inside, he gasped at the place his foster father had paid for. It was much, much more than he had expected from the abnormally cheap man who, in all reality, never liked him very much. The place had a view of all of Manhattan, with a plush couch, plasma TV, and huge kitchen. Allen smiled and went to put his things in the bedroom, which was very elegant for something American. He plopped down on the couch, turned on the TV to the food network, and fell asleep.

He woke up around 3 in the morning, and he was extremely hungry. He got up, rubbing his eyes, to get some food, but when he opened the refrigerator, it was empty. Starting to panic, he looked in the pantry. Empty. The cupboards. Also empty. There was no food in the apartment. Allen began freaking out. His stomach growled angrily. "Oh bloody hell," he muttered. "I've got to get some food."

So he pulled on his boots and a coat and walked out of the building into the strange Manhattan night life. Even at 3 in the morning the place was aglow with lights. He walked through the streets, looking for any food place open that wasn't a bar and wasn't a strip club. All the kindly restaurants were closed, so he went looking for a 24-hour gas station or grocery store. No such luck. He was wandering through back alleys now, being completely lost. Suddenly, he ran into a big mass of person. Apologizing, he looked up to see a dark-skinned bodybuilder glaring down at him. "You gonna watch where you goin', punk?" he growled, his tobacco-scented breath drifting down to Allen. He tried not to react. "My apologies, sir, but it appears as if I am lost—" "I don't care how lost you are. You got some nerve runnin' into me on my own turf, boy," he glowered. "Well, I—" "Shut up!" The big man grabbed him by the shirt collar and pinned him to the brick wall behind him. With his other hand he pulled a lollipop out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. "You like sweets, boy?" "Well, yes, in fact, I was just looking for some food—" The man pulled his fist back and swung at Allen. Just as the wicked-looking knuckles were about to connect with his face, someone stepped in front of him and caught hold of the man's fist. Allen felt something tickle his face when the breeze blew. Hair…?

The person kicked the big man in the stomach, and he let go of Allen. He fell to the ground, breathing hard, terrified at his close encounter. The person who had rescued him was smaller than the other man, he could tell. "Why don't you pick on somebody your own size, instead of a little moyashi?" the person said, in a deep voice with a strong accent, but what the accent was, Allen couldn't quite place. The man stood up and swung at him with a roar, but he ducked and pulled a pocket knife out and pointed it threateningly at him. "Hey, man, that ain't fair, pullin' a knife on a body in an alley in New York City!" "Well, I'm not from New York City, so you can go f—" "Okay, man, okay! I'm leavin'! Just don't stick me with that thing!" The big man scrambled up and ran away. The other man sighed and flipped his knife back into his pocket, and began to walk in the other direction. Allen stood up. "Wait! Excuse me, sir, please wait!" The man stopped and turned around to face Allen. It was the angry Oriental man from the plane. Oh, Allen thought. The accent was Japanese. His eyes were cold, quite unlike the warm inviting eye of Lavi's, or the big caring ones of Lenalee's, or even the calculating ones of Mr. Bookman. "Th-thank you for getting rid of that man, sir," he said shakily. The man shrugged and walked off. Allen ran to catch up with him.

"I mean, he was so big, and you just scared him off! You're pretty intimidating, sir. Thank you!" The man stopped dead in his tracks and glared back at the boy. "Why are you following me?"

Allen blinked. "Well, actually, I'm lost, you see, and trying to find someplace to get food 'cos I'm really hungry and this is my first day in New York and—" The man rubbed his temples. "Tch. I don't care about your problems, you little beansprout, because I haven't exactly been here a long time either. So don't ask me for help." "Can you at least help me find my way home? Please?" Allen pleaded. He growled. "Fine. Walk forward a few steps, then stand still. You'll be home soon enough." "Thanks! Wait. That would take me directly into traffic!" The man smirked. "That's the idea." Allen crossed his arms and stamped his foot. "I'm not moving an inch until you promise to help me get food then get home." The man snorted. "What are you, eight?"

"Fifteen," Allen sniffed indignantly.

"Then act your age."

He started to walk away again, and Allen, huffing angrily, ran after him again. The man swung around. "Fine! I'll help you get food and then I'll get you home if you promise to leave me alone after this!" Allen smiled widely. "Deal." The man sighed again. "Come on. Looks like that place is open," he said, pointing at a bar. Allan looked at the sign. "The White Van?" He said nervously. "Doesn't that sound a little, eh, sketchy to you?" The man shrugged. "You want food or not?" Allen did, so he reluctantly followed him into the bar.

The man sat down at the counter and was greeted by the bartender. "How's it going, stranger? Never seen you around here before." The man shrugged. "I'm from out of country. Now can you get this beansprout a grilled cheese or some chicken nuggets with a juice box or something? He won't stop whining about how hungry he is. And I'll have soki." The bartender looked at him sideways. "Can I see your license please?" The man growled and dug around in his pocket, pulling out a wallet. He took a card out of it and handed it to him. He looked at it. "You're only 18? And this kid must be like, 12 or something! Are you trying to get me arrested? We don't serve minors!" The man looked at him like he was nuts. "What are you talking about, minor? I'm no minor! What kind of a stupid law is that?"

"Sorry buddy, I don't know how they do it in China, but here in America you have to be 21 to drink."

The man clenched his fist. "I'm not from China, you asshole. I'm from Japan."

"Then let me put it simply, Jap: get out of my bar."

The man roared and grabbed a glass beer bottle from the man sitting next to him and threw it. The bar tender ducked. "Security!" he shouted. Allen cowered as the man struggled against the bouncers unsuccessfully.

That was how Allen ended up in the NYPD station at 4 a.m. on his first day in America. He sat in a chair in the waiting room, waiting for the officer to get done questioning the man. They had dragged both of them to the station in the back of a police cruiser, saying that even though Allen didn't do anything for the moment he was the man's responsibility. Eventually an officer brought him out in handcuffs and sat him down in the chair next to Allen's. He freed him of his cuffs and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't ever let me catch you doing something like that again, got it? Because you can and will get your Visa taken away like that." The man nodded. The officer smiled. "You're free to leave. And take your friend with you, he looks uncomfortable." To Allen he said, "Do him and me a favor and make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble." Allen nodded and got up to follow him out of the station.

The man ignored him as they walked down the sidewalk. Allen stayed behind him, close enough not to let him out of his sight, but far enough away not to be in any danger. He strode into a tall apartment complex, up the stairs to the 3rd floor, and into an apartment with a key. Never once did he say anything about Allen still following him. He grabbed a sandwich out of the fridge and threw it at the kid. "You have your food. Happy now?"

"Hey, Yu! You home, buddy?" Somebody was banging on the door as Allen flopped down on the couch. The man motioned angrily for him to get up and answered the door. Much to Allen's surprise, the person at the door was Lavi. As soon as the door was opened, he jumped in and slung an arm around the Japanese man's neck. "Good morning, Yu! Haven't seen you in forever!" Yu shrugged him off and growled, "Don't call me that, you pipsqueak." Lavi straightened up. "I'm almost as tall as you!"

"Yeah, but not quite."

Lavi looked around behind Yu and saw Allen. He was dumbstruck. "London? What are you doing here?"

They all looked at each other, trying to figure out how each knew the others. Lavi ended the silence first. "So I know how I know you," he pointed at Allen, "and I know how I know you," he pointed at Yu. Then he threw his hands in the air, saying in bewilderment, "But how does Yu know Allen and what in the name of Lady Liberty is he doing at Yu's place at four in the morning?" Yu growled, "he followed me home," and Allen said something along the lines of "well, see, there was this man, and he started attacking me, and then this guy, Yu, I guess his name is, saved my life and I was so grateful and so, so hungry that I—" Lavi cut him off. "So Allen and Yu know each other from some life-changing adventure they had together and are now banging in a secluded apartment. Got it." Yu punched him in the arm. "Banging? Get real." Allen stuttered nervously. "B-but, how do you know Lavi, and how does Lavi know you?" he asked Yu. Lavi shook his head and put a hand on Yu's shoulder. "I got this one, bro. You see, Londie, I travel a lot on business for Gramps. One trip took me to Japan. In Kyoto, there was this nutcase on the street, challenging every man he saw to a duel of the sword. Turns out the guy was next in line to be the samurai protecting the Japanese Emperor, and he didn't want to do it, so he ran away from home and became a street performer to pay for food and housing. I called Gramps and told him about him, and he told me to talk to him and find out if he was interested in a job as a real performer. Well, the guy said he'd do it, so we flew him out here to meet with him. He was good, had the potential to bring in a good profit. We rented the guy an apartment in New York, and now he lives here. That's how Yu and I know each other." "Yes, and that tells why I'm here. Why in hell is Brittney here for?" Allen was indignant. "Brittney?" "Yes, you're a Brit, aren't you?"

"Allen's here because he's a singer, and Gramps was interested in his potential. That's also how I know him. By the way," Lavi turned to Allen. "You need a ride home? It looks like you're lost, bro." Allen nodded vehemently, for he did not much like being in the same room with this angry man for extended periods of time. He walked out with Lavi, who tossed a "See you at 8, Yu!" over his shoulder. As the door slammed behind him, Allen caught a glimpse of Yu charging at the door, shouting, "If you ever use my name again, you little insect, I swear I'll-!"

On the ride back to Allen's apartment, he asked Lavi a question. "If he doesn't like being called Yu, then what does he want to be called?"

Lavi laughed. "Let's see if you can guess."


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Allen walked into the lobby of Bookman Records at precisely 8 o' clock. He greeted Johnny, who instructed him to sit on the couch to wait for Mr. Bookman to be ready for him. He was told that he would be recording demos as soon as possible. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. When he had finally gotten home it had been 5 AM. He had fallen into bed, then woke up at 7:30 and had to rush around like a madman to get here on time. So he had a good reason to doze off on the couch before Mr. Bookman barked at him to get in his office. He didn't get up immediately, and Bookman sent Lavi out to smack him to get him up. Lavi wasn't looking too awake either, with a dark circle under his one visible eye and a tired composure. Bookman sat there and considered the two of them for a while, until Johnny came in and told him that his other appointment was there. Yu walked in behind him, and sat himself down in the farthest chair away from Allen. They stared at each other for a moment, and then turned to Bookman. Allen said, as calmly as he could, "What is he doing here?" while Yu practically shouted "What the hell is the damn moyashi doing here?" Bookman held up his hands to quiet them both down. "Allen, you will be recording a demo today, as you know. Lavi came to me and told me that Mr. Kanda is a fair rapper. So, we'll be seeing how well the two of you work together today." Allen leaned back and rubbed his chin. "So your name is Kanda?" "No one asked you for your opinion!" Kanda snarled. "I don't want to work with this squirt on the first day. Anyway, you hired me to dance, not to rap." Allen snickered. "Dance? You're a ballerina!" Kanda scoffed. "Breakdancing, stupid. Not ballet."

"Aw, that's too bad; I'd pay to see you in tights."

Kanda lunged at him, but Lavi grabbed him around the waist and held him back. "Yu! Come on, man! Violence is not the answer!"

Kanda calmed and sat back down. "Quit with that cliché crap."

Bookman clapped his hands. "So now that that's settled, let's get to the recording studio!"

Allen and Kanda sat on their stools in separate corners of the booth, glaring at each other, while Lavi stood in between them awkwardly, showing them the music. "Lenalee writes the songs for a lot of the artists we have here, at least at the beginning. So you'll have Allen singing here, and towards the middle of the song Yu will start his rap. I trust you can both read music. Got it?" They both nodded.

The music started up as Lavi left the booth to control the sound board. Allen took a deep breath and started singing.

"_What goes around comes back around_

_Don't give it up, stand your ground_

_Never give up, never burn out_

_Soon you'll find what it's all about_

_Dream like you'll live forever_

_Live like you'll die today_

_You'll never get another chance_

_This is the only way_

_Break open the sky_

_By love and by might_

_Get ready to fly."_

Then it came to Kanda's part. Lavi leaned forward eagerly.

"Look, just look at what I've done

You say Imma be a star, Imma a shine brighter than the sun

This ain't your territory, don't you see, you're the enemy.

Diamond in the rough, just trying to look tough

Get your head out of the clouds; I think you've had enough.

Put your foot on the gas, prepare to go fast

There's not enough time in the day to last

So leave your fear and your tears at the door

Live life to the fullest, don't wait anymore."

When they walked out of the recording booth, Lavi threw Allen a high-five and slapped Kanda's shoulder, excited. "You two were amazing. You're going to be famous! Allen'll be, like, the British Justin Bieber, only better, and Yu's like the up-and-coming Eminem, or Ludacris, or something, only better!" Bookman walked over and hit Lavi over the head. "Leave them alone. I agree, the two of you are very talented, and I am honored to be helping you on your way. Now, Kanda, I actually haven't seen you dance yet." He and Kanda walked out of the room, leaving Allen and Lavi alone. He grinned at him. "You really do have talent, London. You'll go far, hombre." Allen smiled back. "Do you do anything musically, Lavi?" The redhead laughed. "I wouldn't work for this place if I didn't. Let's see, ah, here we go." He looked around and pulled an acoustic guitar out of its case and slung the strap around his shoulder. "I play guitar and drums. In high school band I play trumpet." Allen slapped a hand to his forehead. "I totally forgot. I start high school here tomorrow." Lavi nodded. "No worries, I'll be there." The younger boy shrugged, and motioned to the guitar. "You going to play?" Lavi nodded and began to strum. He was good, there was no question about that. He played the song "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley; a song that Allen hadn't heard since the day his godfather had abandoned him. As Lavi began to sing, he flashed back to the day he came home to an empty house.

It was about half of a year before the current time. After Allen's adopted father, Mana Walker, had died, his godfather, Cross Marian, had taken him in, but now he was gone. Allen had paid enough of his debts, and then he left every single pound of unpaid money for Allen to pay back and disappeared. Allen came home from a long day of working at a local shop, trying to get enough money to clear himself and Cross of his debt, to a dark and empty apartment in the upper east side of London. The only thing he could hear as he ran through the complex, searching madly for his godfather, was an old record player singing out. "Well I heard there was a secret chord, the day and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do you?"

He snapped back into the current time when he noticed how Lavi was holding out a ridiculously long note and his face was turning slightly purple. Lavi wasn't a bad singer. Not that he could go professional, but it was easy on the ears. Allen smiled at him as he finished the song with a final chord. "You're very talented with the guitar," he commented, as Lavi put the instrument back in its case. He looked back at him. "You think so?" Allen nodded. Lavi snorted. "That makes two people." He turned away and started out the door. Allen stopped him by grabbing his arm, and he turned around to stare at him with his piercing green eye, extremely alert and startlingly intense for someone seemingly so laid back and relaxed. "What do you mean, only two people? Doesn't anyone else realize your skill?" He sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "It's a tragic story, really, but I've heard worse. I've been playing the guitar for as long as I can remember. I think one of my parents started me on it, but I don't remember anything about either of them. I've been raised by my grandfather. I didn't have to work for him; I've had plenty of other opportunities to make money. The fast food business is booming, see. But I figured if I started out on the bottom working for him, then eventually somebody would realize what I can do and bump me up to actually being able to do something in this damn place. Don't get me wrong, I love my granddad, but every time I ask if I can actually do something with my guitar, he shuts me down, claiming I have more important things to do with my life. You know he's never even heard me play?" He laughed sardonically. "Ironic, isn't it?" Allen looked down. "It's sad, is what it is. Ironic in the cruelest of ways." Lavi chuckled. "Don't worry about me. Eventually I'll get into a recording booth, and I'll have my own fame, not just famous for being the grandson of the owner and founder of Bookman Records. You just watch me!" He seemed cheerful enough again, and grabbed Allen's wrist and drug him out the door for lunch in the great Manhattan.


End file.
